By: Emily Miller

I always knew growing up that I had an Uncle Richard who was famous, but at the tender age of three, I really didn’t understand what that meant. I just knew what he looked like, and that occasionally he would pop up on our tv. Therefore, any time someone remotely looked like Richard, I would point up at the tv and go Uncle Richard!!!! It was almost always never him, but Richard found this hilarious, until the day I identified him as Jerry Seinfeld. Then it was on.

I never got anything in the mail regularly, what being three and all, but one day a large envelope came in the mail addressed to me. It was Richard’s headshot with his sprawling handwriting going completely across his face. The first sentence, and I quote was, “I’m not Jerry Seinfeld!!!” He then listed every celebrity I had ever mistook him for, and said I’m not any of these. “I’m just your poor Uncle Richard” was how he signed it. I loved it. And every once in a while as the years progressed, he would send me things that he would sign as Jerry, or the better looking Jerry. It was always our on going joke.

Despite Richard calling himself my uncle, we were not biologically related. So how did I as a child, have a pen pal who was a famous comedian? It’s an incredible story that highlights Richard’s heart, integrity and soul.

In 1969 my Aunt Gail was going to a support group in Englewood NJ, and so was Richard. Both were there for depression. And while both left the support group rather quickly, (Richard claimed the therapist was a “communist” and “crazy as a hatter”) the friendship didn’t stop there. The two struck up a powerful bond that defied the odds and decades.

Gail supported Richard tirelessly during his early days of Stand up. She would drag her brother, (My Dad! but more on him later) and friends to places like Folk City and The Village Gate between 69 and 70. She always ensured there were people there for him for every show. His star continued to climb, and Gail was there for him, every step of the way, and he never forgot that.

In 1971, just as Richard started becoming known in the NYC comedy scene, tragedy quite literally, struck. A tractor trailer crashed into Gail’s car as she was driving it. One of her legs was completely shattered. She would never fully recover. This car accident changed the entire trajectory of her life. Her new disability made it impossible to walk for long distances or stand for great lengths of time. She was left in severe pain, and had to give up the job she loved, a High School English teacher.

She lost a lot of friends, and sunk deeper into her depression, but Richard never left her side. As his star really began to rise, he took my aunt along for the ride.

Richard hired my aunt to work part time for him, to help him with all of his east coast bookings. She handled his hotel and dinner reservations and sports (Richard and Gail had a mutual love for the NY Mets in particular) and show tickets. She was always so incredibly proud to call somewhere on his behalf. That job meant everything to her. He provided her with an income when she didn’t have many opportunities to earn money. Because of the car accident, Gail had mobility issues, which made it difficult for her to get around. In addition to giving her a job, he gave her a car allowance. He never wanted her to worry about how she would get herself to doctors’ appointments or to her family. He sent her money every month, for 40 years.

He also helped her mental health. He got her out of the house, taking her to places she could only dream of. Court side seats with Richard at Madison Square Garden, backstage in the Green Room at the Tonight Show, and hanging out at the Friar’s Club. He gave her a life when she didn’t have one. He was also always getting her gifts or souvenirs or merchandise. The walls of her apartment were filled with autographed headshots, television merch, security badges from various venues and pictures of all their adventures together.

Richard really took care of my aunt for the first two decades of their friendship, but in the early 1990s, they had a massive role reversal.

Richard’s addiction to drugs and alcohol was getting to a dangerous point. He had gone to rehab, but had escaped (He literally hopped the fence) and was back in NYC. My aunt and his other friends knew that something needed to be done. They held an intervention for Richard in my aunt’s tiny apartment in New Rochelle. She told him he needed to go back to rehab, and by the end of the night, after listening to all of his friends, he agreed. He went to Malibu shortly thereafter, and was clean the rest of his life. He always credited her and his friends as the reason he got sober. He even referenced her and that night in his autobiography, The Other Great Depression: How I’m Overcoming, on a Daily Basis, at Least a Million Dysfunctions and Finding a Spiritual (sometimes) Life.

It was around that time when Richard was getting sober that I came into the picture. My aunt never married and I was the closest thing she had to a child, so Richard took an interest in me. All of the generosity he extended to my aunt, he extended to me because of the love he had for her. He was the one who insisted I call him Uncle and he was always so kind to me. When I had my Sabrina the Teenage Witch phase, Richard contacted his friend Caroline Rhea who in turn got the cast to sign autographs for me. (Caroline herself sent me a note about how much she loved my Uncle.) There were many years of my life I was convinced I would marry Derek Jeter (Derek if you’re reading this, you can absolutely still reach out.) and so Richard got him to sign a picture and write a special dedication to me. At another point in my life I was obsessed with the WNBA, so Richard would get me courtside seats at the Garden for NY Liberty Games. I was also probably the only three year old rolling up to the Winnie the Pooh exhibition in a stretch limo.

There was one time in particular, I let my aunt know that I wasn’t doing well in algebra. She asked if there was anything she could do. Now she meant helping me study, but what I replied with was, ‘well my teacher is a BIG 7th Heaven Fan…” (Richard was currently doing a guest stint on the show as a loveable rabbi.) Aunt Gail laughed and said she would call Richard. Well that Christmas, Mrs. Matsakis received a signed production still of Richard, a personalized note and 7th Heaven merch. She cried and I got a B+ that semester, the highest grade she would ever give me!

He wasn’t just generous with gifts though. More importantly, he was generous with his time. As I grew up, I realized I loved acting. My aunt and Richard were delighted. They were both just so happy and proud of this common interest and passion. When I was accepted into a Performing Arts Academy for High School, Richard set up a meeting for just the two of us. While he was in NYC for an appearance, my aunt dropped me off at his hotel, and Richard said, “Welcome to the business.” and gave me a bear hug. He spoke to me for over an hour about what an incredible thing it was to be performer, but also reflected on the difficulties of the industry and warned me about the hardships I was going to encounter. He said it’s the most rewarding thing to make it, and he hoped I wouldn’t give up on it. It was a really special day, just the two of us.

In 2010, I started my freshman year of college, pursuing a degree in Theatre Arts. It was my first semester at school, that my Aunt Gail was diagnosed with dementia. We were all gutted. She left us just two years later in 2012.

When it was time for her Eulogy, there was only one person we asked. I’ll never forget him walking into the funeral home, the Prince of Pain in his signature all black, more appropriate than ever before. We locked eyes from across the room, and met in the middle and just held each other. I squeezed his hand before he went up to the podium. Her eulogy was everything you would expect from one of the greatest stand ups of all time. He made us all laugh. He made us all forget about her dementia. He turned it into a celebration of her life in the most joyous way possible.

There was a fear, that without my aunt anymore, that my family would lose the connection to Richard. She was, after all, the glue that kept us all together. But that’s not who Richard Lewis was. In the 12 years since my aunt passed, we never lost touch. He and my dad strengthened their decades long friendship. The note Richard sent my dad for his 75th birthday was so touching, and will be something he’ll cherish forever.

Uncle Richard also remained a giant supporter of me. When I got my first role onstage outside of college, he was one of the first people to congratulate me. He called me up and just pontificated for a half hour about life and show business and my aunt. I don’t think I said a word, but why would you when you’re having a conversation with Richard. It’s better to just bask in his brilliance. When I made my Off-Broadway debut, he couldn’t be prouder. He sent me an email I will never forget.

We last spoke in January. I had finally seen the movie he was most proud of, Drunks. He was almost always in comedies, and rarely was seen as simply an actor. I told him how incredible he was in it, and he mentioned how personal it was to him as a recovering alcoholic. He was so happy I had finally seen it. I’m forever grateful that that was our last conversation.

Richard will forever be known as one of the greatest standups of all time. He will be remembered for coining the phrase “the x from hell.” He will always be associated for his all black outfits and sunglasses. But it’s his kindness, generosity, spirit and acting abilities that need to endure. And that he was much better looking than Jerry Seinfeld.